Possession
by Sarryn
Summary: (A/U) Carrot learns the price of heroics and compassion. (VERY DARK and twisted. YAOI, torture, non-con, BDSM. Pairings: CM/C, S/C)
1. Toys

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Sorcerer Hunters, but that hasn't stopped me from writing about them.

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Warning: This story contains the themes of torture, sex, and male/male relationships. If any of these may offend you, then stop reading. If, however, you do read this, in spite of my warnings, and find it offensive, then I have to say it is your own fault. This scene is of an erotic nature, but I have attempted to write it as tastefully as my ability allows.

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Note: I will not accept any flames, however, comments and criticisms are welcome. I am under the assumption that anyone reading this has a clear understanding of the difference between flames and criticisms so I don't have to explain it. Here are some reason why I don't accept flames: **1) **they generally include an attack on the author's character without regard to previous or future works that may or may not be in the same vein, **2)** not only are they childish, but they make the writer of them sound immature and not old enough to read the material contained herein, **3)** flames help neither the author nor the flamer to improve the work and, therefore, are not constructive, **4)** if something is so offensive as to elicit the impulse to flame then it is better forgotten and not dwelled upon, **5) **you waste time writing it and I waste time reading and then deleting it, **6)** it won't do you any good to point out my lack of scruples, morals, intelligence, sanity, etc., because not only don't I care, but I won't listen.

So, anyway, please review and no flames. Also, Carrot has been paired with more than the two mentioned in the summary. He's the gift that just keeps on giving, especially when a man is doing the taking. ;)

Possession

Cyprian Alexander Mint collected the rare, the beautiful and the powerful. His sprawling, three-floor mansion housed many artifacts from around the world that would have museums and other collectors salivating and plotting his imminent demise. Sumerian goddess statues watched passersby from lighted niches in the white walls along the many stairways. Finely preserved Japanese prints and scrolls decorated rooms and hallways. Vases, statues, suits of armor, tablets and much, much more entranced visitors. People had been known to spend hours in a single hallway looking at the pieces he had on display there. Whenever one of those visitors questioned him on his method of acquisition, he smiled a warm, gentle smile. In the most part he regarded others' amazement at his expansive and expensive collection with indulgent amusement. The collection filling the rooms and halls of the mansion were valuable only in mortal terms. Those were mundane in comparison to what he hid away in the extensive labyrinth below the mansion.

Treasures, won or stolen from the kingdoms of heaven and hell and beyond, rested in magically reinforced cases. Each item hummed with power and latent sentience. These artifacts were only shown to a few, choice friends of his inner circle; the few who knew the truth behind Cyprian's philanthropic façade. However, even these mostly-trusted cronies did not know about the green room on the third floor, or about the most powerful treasure residing there.

"You want to leave." It wasn't a question. Dressed in a gown of deep emerald, cinched tightly about the waist by a wide sash of black silk, the boy stared determinedly out the large windows that faced the expansive backyard, rose gardens, hedge maze, orchard, and verdant forest beyond. 

"You want to leave," Cyprian continued with a gentle, almost loving smile, "But I won't let you." Stubbornly the black haired boy maintained his silence. The man laughed indulgently as his pale green eyes devoured the boy. The dress clung to the planes of his thin chest and flat stomach, then flared out at his narrow hips to cascade in loose pleats to the wood floor. The man delighted in the golden glow the color brought out in the boy's olive skin tone and the luster it added to his spiky black hair. 

The boy refused to grow his hair out, much to Cyprian's continued amusement. It was his only rebellion, a sign of his fiery spirit. He had not been broken. He endured everything thrust upon him, quite literally, too, and maintained a sort of seething resentment. 

He wasn't physically beautiful. There was something too strong about his face for feminine beauty, but there was something soft, almost delicate, that prevented him from being handsome in the classical sense. The true attraction lay in the fact that his face, his whole body, was a reflection of the soul within. His soul surpassed all others in exquisite innocence, determination, compassion and strength. Those four facets of his essence had shaped his face and form to something that transcended beauty. However, it was not a beauty that could be seen by the casual observer. One had to know what he was looking for in order to see it. 

Cyprian had seen it. Had wanted it from the first moment. And now, like so many other things, he owned it, owned the boy. It had been pure luck, or perhaps divine or demonic intervention (he was inclined to believe in the latter), that had brought the delicious boy to him. The boy had sacrificed his freedom and his dignity to save one who wasn't even blood related. That was truly what made the whole situation so amusing. The world he traveled had no time for heroics or selflessness. The boy, an orphan, had sacrificed everything for a little girl who he likened to a sister, also an orphan. The man savored that. 

"Now that I have you." He approached the youth with measured steps. A slight stiffening of his posture was the only clue that he was aware of the man's approach. Cyprian paused a few feet back to bask in the waves of hatred rolling off of him. Such volatile passions pulsed through that slight frame. Every scant inch of his flesh seemed to beg for a caress, whether with hand, silk or whip. 

He touched that smooth flesh, felt it strain with tensed muscles. He slid a hand up the tanned arm and paused at the delicate, puffed sleeve just below the shoulder ball. An almost imperceptible shiver traveled the succulent length of the boy's body. Did he think that the Cyprian would take him now with a large social even planned to occur in just a few hours' time? Of course he did; it would not be the first time, but the philanthropist had no intention of plundering his young flesh—yet. There would be plenty of time after the last guest left. 

"Your clothes will be laid out for you in an hour, which will be five o'clock. The event begins at seven thirty. I expect you to be ready by seven and in the main ballroom to await the guests.

"Remember to be on your best behavior. Do not speak unless spoken to and do not talk about anything more important than the weather or some such pleasant but useless information. You would not like my treatment if I find you have evidenced a mind in front of my guests." The boy offered no reply. The man knew he didn't need reminding, but he enjoyed the ritual of it. There was something to be said about tradition, especially between two people of differing status. 

Tenderly he nibbled the boy's earlobe. The boy made as if to shift away, but the man wrapped his arms about his waist and pressed him close. Cyprian inhaled deeply. The boy always smelled of soap and lemons. He honestly had no idea where the lemons came from, perhaps the soap? Nonetheless, he enjoyed the scent. It was so delightfully innocent and fresh. Everything about him spoke of undaunted innocence. The man could just gobble him up. 

"S-stop." The man ignored the stuttered plea and bit into the tender flesh. A hissed exhalation issued from the youth even as he leaned back. Lovingly he laved the small hurt and delighted in the coppery taste sliding across his tongue. 

"Why?" The boy pushed against his arms ineffectually. The boy began to shake exquisitely as he ran his tongue about the whorls of the delicate shell of the boy's ear. Hitched gasps were his only answer as he slid a hand down his vulnerable stomach and lower. "You seem to like it so much."

Yes, the youth was so deliciously hard despite all his silly protesting. His mind fought so valiantly against the urges of his body, but it always lost. Cyprian loved that, loved the sweet humiliation on the youth's reddened face when he finally yielded. The man knew he was obsessed, obsessed with the beautiful surrender of the boy's taut little body. And how unwillingly it happened! The struggle, the internal battle between mind and libido, always played so clearly across the boy's expressive face. Every grimace and blush explicated his turmoil, his shame. 

"I…don't," he grated out as Cyprian teased his erection. The man laughed with delighted amusement and kissed his flushed cheek.

"Naughty, naughty. You shouldn't lie to your elders," the philanthropist murmured wickedly. "Especially not when they can tell that you are lying." He gave the turgid length of flesh a squeeze and then released the boy, who staggered forward and braced himself against the window ledge. 

"Be ready by seven." With a gracious smile Cyprian left the boy to his thoughts. No doubt he would be thinking about him, wanting him to come back and finish what he had started. Unfortunately the man was needed elsewhere at the moment. His toy would have to wait for a few hours, but, after that, Cyprian would make up every second between now and then. The waiting would only heighten the tension, and the release. 

~*~*~*~

Cyprian Alexander Mint watched the whirling butterflies of society flit amongst themselves while holding glasses of perfectly chilled champagne and plates of delicate hors d'oeuvres. His sharp, pale green eyes scanned each familiar face. There was not a person invited who he had not shaken hands with or kissed on the cheek. He had made it a stringent policy to exclude all hangers on and others simply looking for the thrill of money. He would not deign to call the majority friends or even pleasurable acquaintances; they were far too mundane for such note. However, scattered among the menagerie of de-clawed housecats, stalked the true predators of his own kind. Human only in appearance and genetics, they were the ones who held any interest to him. To be sure he chatted and spoke a few gracious words to each guest, but it was to them that he indicated the true purpose of the gathering. 

Unlike many of his peers-in-name, he did not hold extravagant events to display his newest human acquisitions. What was the point of throwing grand parties in order to showcase a rare Babylonian clay tablet or bit of glittery jewelry? When he held such an event a majority of the participants would be clueless. To them it would be simply a social occasion, but to his true peers, the ones who shared his knowledge of larger existences, this would indeed be a display. It had become something of a game for them: throwing grand gatherings in order to show off some artifact that only they knew the value of. 

"That is him, isn't it?" a cool baritone asked lowly. Cyprian felt a possessive smile curving his lips. Hungrily he watched the slight figure dressed in gold and white sulk at the outskirts of the crowd. 

"Quite astonishing, wouldn't you say?"

"What's his name?" Simon Marcel Torte inquired while spinning a fluted champagne glass between two long fingers. 

"Carrot Glace." Simon snorted and shot his companion a skeptical look.

"Indeed?"

"Oh, you want his real name?"

"That was my intent. I find your little pet names rather odd." Cyprian brushed back an escaping wisp of silver hair and leaned closer to the other man. 

"Jason Caleb Glace," he replied, lips barely touching the other's ear. Simon turned to look at him. To an observer it might have looked like a kiss, but their mouths never met.

"I see where the 'c' and 'a' came from, but how did you come up with 'Carrot'? He does not have orange hair, or look anything like a vegetable, unless you count how skinny he is."

"He is good for the eyes, Simon, just like a carrot."

"You have a twisted sense of humor, Cool Mint," the man remarked, using a knick name not heard since high school. He turned back to observe the boy's progress about the room. He took a contemplative sip from the glass. Cyprian chuckled softly and followed Simon's gaze. 

Dressed in a gold robe of vaguely oriental design and split high at each hip to reveal loose white pants, the enslaved youth nibbled reluctantly at meat filled pastries and avoided anyone who tried to strike up a conversation. Nervous tension hummed through his slight frame and his dark brown eyes darted around frantically. He looked so delicious that the man had to firmly restrain himself from simply tossing the boy over his shoulder and abandoning the party in favor of a tête-à-tête of a more intimate nature. 

"Does he know?"

"Of course not. You think I would tell him? I never took you for a fool before, Simon."

"And I wouldn't start now. However, it has always been difficult to tell what exactly goes on in that head of yours, Cyprian. You make too many plans."

"Not this time, old friend. This time I'm simply a collector." 

"You're not planning on using him?" the black-haired man demanded incredulously. Deep purple eyes scanned Cyprian's tranquil face. 

"Oh, I am using him, just not in that way, at least for right now." Simon laughed deeply, cynically, and shook his head. 

"You amaze me sometimes, sir. You are honestly telling me that you haven't tapped into even a little of the boy's power?"

"Not a jot."

"Your control is admirable, especially since you don't evidence much of it normally."

"I shall take that as a compliment."

"You would." The silver-haired man smiled enigmatically and plucked the champagne flute from his companion's hand. Placing his lips upon exactly the same spot that Simon had, he drained the last of the effervescent liquid. Pale green eyes sparkled with dark amusement upon seeing the disapproving glare on the other man's handsome face. 

"Would you like to meet my pet? I assure you that he will be on his best behavior," Cyprian whispered conspiratorially. Carefully he placed the glass on a nearby table.

"Trained him, have you?"

"Oh yes!" He caught the boy's glance and motioned him to come over. The boy paused, as if he would refuse the summons, then walked reluctantly towards the waiting men. 

"What?" he demanded petulantly despite the obvious fear shimmering in the depths of his dark eyes.

"A bit surly, Cyprian," Simon observed dryly.

"I prefer to think of it as spirited," the pale-haired man replied with an indulgent laugh. 

"You spoil him."

"I like my toys to have a bit of fire in them."

"T-toy?" the boy sputtered indignantly. 

"What do you think of him?" Cyprian inquired, both men ignoring the offended youth. Simon grasped the boy's chin between thumb and index finger and tilted his face up. He moved it left and right, eyes carefully noting every line and angle. He bent down as if to kiss the faintly trembling boy, but he merely inhaled deeply. 

"A little on the thin side, but nothing age won't cure." Slowly he withdrew and released the quivering chin. The boy looked decidedly dazed. Cyprian smiled deeply. His poor little toy had been overwhelmed by the dark-haired man. 

"Not that way, silly."

"Hmm?" Simon arched one dark brow and scrutinized the boy. "He might become an addiction." Warning colored his voice, but the philanthropist chose to ignore it. 

"Would you like a taste?" 

"What do you mean?" Cyprian smiled serenely as a suspicious frown appeared on his companion's face. He pulled the boy close, wrapping one arm about his waist, and toyed with the wiry strands of black hair. For a moment the youth struggled against him, but gave up with a resigned sigh. 

"I could always arrange a play date between you two. I'm sure you would enjoy it." The silver-haired man winked suggestively and ran a pale hand down the boy's shocked face. 

"You never share, Cyprian."

"Don't I? I have donated millions to various charities." Simon waved a waved dismissive hand, though his purple eyes had taken on a calculating glint.

"That is a human concern, and you know of what I speak."

"Indeed I do, but I'm feeling exceptionally generous."

"And why, pray tell, is that?"

"Kanure Stella will no longer be a problem. Her delightful brother has made sure of that," Cyprian answered with a particularly malicious smile. 

"You trust that weak boy?"

"No, but he comes through sometimes."

"Like now, for instance?"

"For instance," the pale-haired man affirmed, lightly stroking the boy's bewildered face. "So?"

"Perhaps later, if you're still in such a good mood."

"You still don't trust me, Simon?"

"I trust no one. You are the same, yes?"

"You've found out my dark little secret. I'm as paranoid and suspicious as you are, old friend."

"No one," Simon said coldly, "Has ever found out your dark secret. You're too shrewd." Cyprian smiled calmly at the other man, though he didn't deny his claim. Abruptly he released the boy and pushed him off to the side. The youth took the hint and quickly dashed away. The man cast a tender smile after the retreating figure before returning his attention to Simon. 

The black-haired man had a look of faint amusement upon his darkly handsome face. Cyprian raised an eyebrow patiently. 

"You're already addicted," he said simply. The philanthropist had the grace to look embarrassed, though one couldn't tell if it was true or merely for show. 

"You think so?"

"Most assuredly."

"Perhaps I shouldn't share him, then. You might find yourself unable to resist him." Simon laughed harshly and turned his attention to the oblivious crowd of the socially elite. 

"All power is corrupting."

"But, Simon," Cyprian breathed, leaning against the other man, "You've already been corrupted." Teasingly he ran a pale hand up his arm and returned his scowl with a serene smile. "And he's so delightfully innocent."

"Yes."

"Couldn't you just…" The silver-haired man nipped Simon's ear playfully. "Eat him up?"

~*~*~*~

The last resplendent butterflies and housecats departed, each talking a little too loud and walking a little oddly. Jason Caleb Glace, also known as "Carrot", watched them go enviously. He pressed his young face against the glass until his breath fogged the window and he could only see dim shapes moving off into the lingering darkness. The low purr of foreign cars filled the air and, like so many ravens, they drove down the cobbled driveway, past lighted fountains and impenetrable hedges, and out the front gate, which opened obligingly. One by one they evanesced into the world outside, a world he could no longer visit. He rubbed the window clean with the sleeve of his robe and turned away from the window. 

He stilled upon finding the silver-haired man watching him hungrily alongside the black-haired man. Both regarded him with similar auras of predatory cunning. Fear skittered up his spine and he found his limbs trembling with trepidation. The delicate hairs on the back of his neck rose in warning. Something was going on, he knew, something involving that stranger. 

Vividly he remembered Cyprian's early comments about sharing him, letting the other man 'taste' him. He felt dizzy just imagining those unfathomable purple eyes boring into his again. Surely the philanthropist wouldn't whore him out just for kicks? However, he knew that the man would. He loved finding new humiliations to foster upon him. Anything to make him cringe and blush and scream was tested. With a shudder he recalled times when Cyprian had come across techniques that had him doing whatever he could for just a little more…

He didn't need to be told to come over. As slowly as excusable, he approached them with slumped shoulders. He wanted to run away. He wanted to tear off the insufferable outfit, throw open the large front doors and sprint away after all the guests. But most of all he wanted to see Crepe, the little girl he called sister. Everything he did and endured was for her sake. She would get better if he obeyed, Cyprian had promised that. He couldn't let himself doubt that. She had to get better. She was too strong for the cancer. 

"Come here," Cyprian crooned holding out a pale hand. With a shudder of distaste he took hold of it and found himself pulled into a tight embrace. 

"Are you teasing me?" the dark-haired man demanded of the other one. 

"Me? Tease? Certainly." Carrot felt the chest pressed against his face vibrate with mirthful laughter. A deep, throbbing heartbeat, Cyprian's, filled his ears. 

"For what purpose?"

"That's the question, isn't it? Why would I tease you with this delicious little morsel?" Warm hands slid up his back and began to press against the tensed muscles of his neck. 

"I have no patience for games." He could hear the frost coating the other's words, but also a hunger. He pressed himself into Cyprian. The unknown pain frightened more than the known. 

"Perhaps I want something. Yes, I want something from you, Simon. Something only you can give me." Curiosity filled the boy. What could that other man have that Cyprian wanted so badly? What was is that caused him to so willingly offer up one of his 'toys'? 

"Indeed?"

"Very much so. You know of what I speak?" Tenderly the fingers worked loose each knot of tension. Carrot found himself leaning fully against the man, almost senseless to the conversation. He wanted to listen, but he just couldn't wrap his mind around the words spoken about him. 

"I do."

"This is a fair trade, don't you think?"

"To you, perhaps, Cyprian. However, I'm not quite as gullible as you seem to think. I will not be bound to you through this one."

"You think I'd do that?" The shock in his voice sounded real enough, but the boy doubted that the man was ever shocked by anything. If nothing else, he was a planner. He had contingencies ready for anything that might happen. 

"I know you, Cool Mint. I know you better than the others, and I won't gladly bend to your whim like they do. I have my own agenda."

"Of course you do," Cyprian placated graciously. He pushed Carrot back and began to undo the row of braided fasteners holding the robe closed. His face paled as his gaze darted between the concentrating face of Cyprian and the fingers undressing him before the other man. He couldn't be meaning to…

"You do realize that I'm not offering him as a one time event, don't you?" Cyprian continued pushing the slick material off of the boy's trembling shoulders. Carrot knew better than to grab at the cloth. 

"Oh?"

"I'm willing to allow you unrestricted access to him, with prior reservation of course." The cloth pooled about his ankles with the barest whisper. He shivered as cold air caressed his revealed body. Silently he prayed that Cyprian would at least leave him the pants. 

"Of course."

"Well, what do you say now?" Gently the silver-haired man turned the boy about to face the dark-haired stranger. The stranger looked over him carefully. Carrot tried to inch away but Cyprian's strong hands held him in place for the inspection. He could feel a heated blush staining his face and neck. 

"What am I allowed to do?"

"Whatever you want, as long as you don't harm him fatally. You'd be surprised at the amount of damage his lovely body can take." Cyprian leaned down and gently bit the rim of the boy's ear. He squirmed beneath the hands, eyes watching the stranger fearfully. "And he screams so beautifully at just the right times." Tenderly he stroked the boy's bare chest. Carrot felt his body react immediately to the light touches dancing across his body. He hated how responsive he had become under the man's constant tutoring. He no longer controlled his body. 

"I agree then. Your terms are quite generous, but do not think for a moment that I will let down my guard. I've known you since we were both toddling about in diapers. You were always a tricky bastard."

"Your words wound me, Simon! Aren't we old friends?"

"And older enemies."

"True. True," Cyprian conceded with a jovial laugh. He tucked Carrot beside him. The boy felt his teeth knocking together with his shivering. He had just been whored out. And for what? Something that the silver-haired man wanted desperately. There were few things in this world and the worlds beyond that he desired, but when he found one nothing, not heaven or hell (as was proved time and time again) could stop him. What would the stranger do with him, to him? He didn't want to know, but he would find out soon enough. Too soon. 

"When do you want him? And would you rather I send him to you? Or would you care to partake of him here?"

"In a week, and send him to me. I trust your house even less than your intentions."

"It's not a house, Simon. It's a mansion." Carrot pressed his face against the man's side and desperately fought against the tears prickling his eyes. He was doing this for Crepe. Her getting better would make everything worth it. He couldn't lose her, not to cancer, not to anything. 

The dark-haired man snorted derisively and waved away Cyprian's mocking assertion. The boy cringed when the smoldering purple eyes touched upon him. He could feel them working over his exposed flesh and undressing the rest of him. Even naked he had never felt more exposed, more open. He could already feel the man's fingers moving across his flesh, touching him in secret places. Would he want the same sick things that Cyprian delighted in? Oh gods, what if he wanted something infinitely, unimaginably worse? The boy couldn't even conceive of something worse than what Cyprian had already inflicted upon him, but he was sure there remained a few things that he had not yet experienced. He shuddered. 

"Shall I see you off to your car?" the philanthropist inquired congenially.

"Don't bother. I'll send it to you two days after you send him. It should be ready by then." 

"Thank you so much. And safe driving."

"Unless someone's tampered with the brakes while I was inside, there shouldn't be any need for concern."

"You really think that bad of me?"

"I've never put anything past you and I never will."

"Not even after our agreement?"

"Especially after our agreement. Good night, Cyprian." Carrot watched the man stride away around the philanthropist's slender body. In a weeks time he would discover what perversities excited the man's fancy and what tortures he could inflict. He was doing it for Crepe. He just had to keep telling himself that. 

For Crepe…

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From Sarryn:

This is a frighteningly long story. It's filled with various convoluted plots all leading back to Carrot and the mysterious power inside of him. Exciting, ne? I hope you all will endure this marathon of writing with me, and perhaps even enjoy the journey (though that is a bit much to hope). Did you know that the story part of this took up eleven typed pages? Single spaced? Isn't that frightening?

Teno Hikari and Lady Douji were there through the whole thing, though. Thank goodness or I would have run into many a wall as I struggled to find a place to end this chapter. I owe them many thanks for being there for me in my time of need. Otherwise this story would have consumed me entirely. You guys are the best anchors for the weary soul!

Please REVIEW with that lovely review button at the bottom of this page, if you would be so kind.

Much Love,

Sarryn


	2. Playing

"Will she get better?" Jason Caleb Glace asked lowly as he watched the pale, blonde girl breath shallowly upon the sterile hospital bed. She looked like a fragile doll, or a princess under some evil spell. The vitality and cheer that seemed such a part of her had vanished. __

"I guarantee you that she will. I have it within my power to ensure that she makes a full recovery in at least two months," the silver-haired man replied gently. The boy flinched away from the warm fingers that brushed against his neck. "Jason?" He swallowed convulsively and bowed his head. The fingers returned and began to gently massage the tension and fear tightening his muscles. 

"Do you understand?" The man leaned against him. The fingers left his neck and danced about his shoulders. "There is no going back." Sharp teeth nibbled the rim of his ear. "You will be mine." Arms locked possessively about his waist. "Forever."

"If she gets better," the boy whispered harshly. He shuddered as the man's rich, honeyed laugh slid across his skin. 

"Oh she will, my lovely. I shall see to it personally." Strong fingers ran down his chest and dipped lower. The boy jerked forward, away from the probing fingers, but found himself unable to wriggle from the other's grasp. "And I shall see to you even more personally, never fear. I'm going to make you scream for me."

The boy froze as the words registered in his stunned mind. Whimpering in sudden fear, he struggled against the man's unmoving arms. With a startled shriek he found himself thrown to the floor and pressed down by the philanthropist's superior size. Skillful hands roamed his helpless body. He tried to cry out, call for help, but a pair of silken lips devoured his own. Warm fingers slid up his T-shirt and moved playfully across his nipples. A startled gasp opened his mouth wide as the oddest, most inexplicable jolt of sensation ripped through him. A warm, wet tongue slid into the sudden opening and he gagged. 

His muffled groans of protest drowned in the voracious mouth moving purposefully against his own. He tried to push the offensive, invading tongue out, but only succeeded in eliciting a husky moan from the man. To his horror he felt something decidedly rigid pulsing against his thigh. Panic gripped him and he thrashed about. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening! Please! 

And only a few feet away Crepe Awlin slept on in a cloud of painkillers. Outside the thin door nurses and doctor's hurried about their business. And he was lying helplessly beneath the weight of a silver-haired man, a demon whom he had invited to him. If only he had known…He still wouldn't have reneged. This was for Crepe. But…

The man reared back and smiled down at him with unnerving tenderness. He looked so serene, so loving, and for a moment Jason simply wanted to bask in the tranquility of his face. Then the man began working the button and zipper on his jeans. The boy cried out and struck at him with fists and feet. Still smiling the man moved between his kicking legs and grasped his wildly flailing arms. He made a slight disapproving sound and pinned the boy's wrists together above his head with a single, elegant hand. Jason's dark brown eyes widened when he found himself effectively restrained.

"P-please don't. Please!" Panting from the exertion he watched with horror as the man deftly undid the zipper of his pants with one hand. 

"You've already agreed, Jason. There's no going back now." Soft lips pressed delicate kisses against his cheeks, nose and forehead. "You are mine now. I will do whatever I want to you. I own you, forever." 

"I didn't…"

"Are you sure?" A wicked glint glowed within his pale green eyes. "Perhaps this is what you've always wanted. Maybe you need to submit." A tender hand traced the contours of his face and the peach fuzz dusting his upper lip. "You're so tender and…hard." The man laughed delightedly as he felt the proof of the boy's unwilling desire. A deep flush stained Jason's tan cheeks. He tried to rationalize the evidence away. The man couldn't be right. He'd never wanted…

"Why?" Tears began to trail down to wet the short hair at his temples. He blinked rapidly, eyelashes stuck upon the tears left unshed. 

"Because you're too delicious to pass up. Because I've wanted you for a very long time now," the man answered gently. With a small purr of pleasure he sipped each teardrop and licked the salty path to his temple. "I would still have had you whether or not this girl fell ill." Horror filled the boy and poured out through the despairing wail that left his lips. 

Jason Caleb Glace stared blankly at the white tile ceiling. He could feel the man tugging down his jeans and underwear. Cold air hit him and he shivered reflexively. Silken lips trailed across his temple and sucked insistently upon his bottom lip. Murmured praises drifted into his ears as warm fingers played with his erection. He watched the man watching him. Pale green eyes captured his own and a generous mouth curved in almost religious adoration. His hips were lifted. He knew what was coming. He squeezed his eyes close, tears leaking between the seam of his lids. 

"I want to hear you scream, lovely." And he did. Hitching, sobbing screams issued from his throat as the man violently thrust into him. He surged upward, found his arms firmly pinned down, and sagged down. Oh gods, he could feel it inside of him! He squirmed, seeking easement of the burning pain engulfing him, and only served to cause the man to moan harshly and bear more fully into him. 

"N-no!"

"Yes," the man hissed. Jason's eyes rolled back as a warm hand wrapped securely about his hard length. He shuddered, suspended between pain and pleasure. He pumped helplessly into the forcefully hand even as a rigid column of flesh savaged him. Why wasn't anyone coming to his rescue? Couldn't they hear his screams of pain? Of horrible pleasure?

His eyes snapped open in terror as a single, spine bending, shudder ran the entire course of his slight body. He arched up, voice a high whine, and felt the tension, insidiously coiled about his groin, snap. He flopped back upon the body-warmed linoleum and gazed unblinking at the ceiling. His chest rose and fell in the frantic effort to provide his body with enough oxygen. The man continued his plunging thrusts into the boy's limp and unresisting form. The man moaned huskily and stilled. Jason waited expectantly for him to withdraw, to finally leave his soiled body. 

"You're perfect," the man whispered with a surprisingly controlled voice, and found his own release. The boy curled up onto his side and sobbed softly when the man finally pulled out. Through tear-blurred eyes he watched the man calmly straighten his clothes. In a matter of moments he looked as if he had just gotten dressed, and not like he had just assaulted a minor in a hospital. 

"I don't think I like your name anymore. Your parents gave it to you. From now on you'll use a name I give you." The man ran elegant hands through his long, silver hair and smiled tenderly at the wretched boy. 

"What…name?" he croaked. The man hummed thoughtfully and tapped his chin with a tapered finger. 

"Carrot."

"What? Why?"

"You're good for the eyes." The man glanced at a watch and made a small sound of annoyance. "I have a meeting in an hour. Come along now. I have to get you home." The boy stared at himself. The sticky reminder of his release covered his stomach. He reeked of sex and fear. How would he get out of the hospital without someone noticing his condition? 

"Oh my, you need to be cleaned up," the man observed with a whimsical chuckle. "You'll have to take a bath later."

"What?"

"Put yourself in order and come along."

"But…" Hastily he jerked his T-shirt down and pulled up his pants. The man approached him with soft footfalls and tilted his head up. Pale green eyes burned into his. In their depths he saw a universe burning. 

"I want you to remember this. Do you know why no one came?" The boy shook his head. "I didn't want_ anyone to interrupt us. That is merely a small demonstration of my power. Remember that and behave accordingly. There will be no one coming to your rescue, ever." Tenderly the man kissed him. He shivered, unsure whether he wanted to lean forward or backward. _

~*~*~*~

Cyprian Alexander Mint caressed the delightfully resilient flesh of the boy. Slowly, carefully he traced each inch of flesh with the tips of fingers. Here and there he would take a bit between thumb and index and pinch until the boy squeaked in complaint. He grinned tenderly and twisted the soft skin on the inside of his thighs. 

"How did you enjoy the party?" the philanthropist inquired laconically. Playfully he nibbled a sensual path along the slight curve of the boy's narrow hips. He shifted as if to escape. Cyprian gripped his thighs to dissuade him of the idea. He had no intention of letting his toy escape, though, at times, he did enjoy a bit of a chase beforehand. Hunting the frightened boy through the mansion and the gardens had proved a very stimulating entertainment, especially the inevitable conclusion. However, he was not inclined to indulge in such exertions this night. 

"Why do you even bother asking?" the boy demanded with a tired sigh. Cyprian chuckled softly against the silken skin beneath his cheek. The hint of lemons and soap that always accompanied the boy filled his olfactory sense. Definitely lemon soap, he decided and made a note to keep it in supply. 

"Perhaps I'm interested in a fairly unbiased opinion. Or perhaps I'm only making conversation." 

"Whatever." The boy let loose a pained howl as Cyprian bit deeply into the flesh of his hip. The boy panted slightly as he attempted to regain his composure. The man lapped at the small trickle of blood seeping from the perfect imprint of his teeth. The boy groaned softly and shifted restlessly upon the linen sheets. Such pretty distress flushed his cheeks and neck. 

"I expect an answer when I ask a question, lovely." He moved up till he lay full across him, noses touching. The boy blinked slowly, anger and fear seething in his dark eyes, and turned his face away. Cyprian clucked in disapproval and forced the boy to look him in the eye. "Well?"

"I hated it. I hate you." The man laughed and kissed the reddened cheeks. Perhaps Simon had been right; perhaps he had been spoiling the boy. However, he still maintained that spirit was not a bad thing. It added a delectable piquancy to the whole affair. 

"I didn't ask you for your feelings about myself," he murmured with a warm smile. Rapaciously he kissed the pouting, trembling lips, fingers sinking into the boy's wiry black hair. The mouth remained firmly, obstinately closed. Undaunted he probed the seam with his tongue and applied pressure to the place where the jaw hinged to the skull. The boy's lips parted upon a pained, startled gasp and he invaded. The delightful flavor of the boy drowned him. Unrestrainedly he moaned as he explored every exquisite centimeter of the moist heaven. Simon had been right: the boy was addictive. He tasted of innocence and defiance, of life and the promise of death. He tasted of power.

"So you hate me?" he queried between soft bites down the boy's quivering throat. 

"I do." He noted the wavering quality of his young voice and smiled. 

"But you still want me, want this." The boy gasped and arched against him as he encircled his erection with one hand. Slowly, lovingly he stroked it, pumped it till the boy was beyond hard, beyond ready. He played him about the razor thin edge of orgasm, feeling the taut body flex and undulate against him. Venomous imprecations filled the darkened room as the boy struggled against the man's skillful ministrations. Cyprian licked up the drops of dewy sweat trailing down the boy's stretched throat. 

"Shit! Shit!" the boy screamed as he pumped helplessly against the philanthropist's moving hand. The boy's hands reached out and tangled in the man's long ponytail. Twisting, shrieking, the boy gripped the silver locks and jerked hard. Cyprian bit back a gasp of pain and kissed the boy's gapping mouth. Sharp slivers of pain jabbed his skull from the abused roots. However, he enjoyed the delicious burning, as it was a sign of the youth's loss of control. He had finally yielded, surrendered so exquisitely, and after such a determined fight, too. Simon was wrong, actually. A little fire made the meal that much more enjoyable. And, after watching the boy's tight form sulking so prettily about the party, he was ravenous. 

Disentangling the boy's hands from his hair, he moved back and took in the gorgeous sight below him. Still twitching with the need for release, the boy stared at him with unfocused eyes, his supine form glowing in the wan light. The pupils had dilated till only a small sliver of chocolate brown could be seen at their perimeter. Cyprian had never seen another person's eyes do that. It was a testament to the quiescent force shimmering below the youth's fragile skin. There was something not entirely human in him. 

"You're perfect," Cyprian breathed reverently and kissed one pebbled nipple. He raised the slender hips and watched those gorgeous eyes slowly focus. Fear and anticipated pain slid into those dark orbs. He smiled tenderly. He never took the precious, delicious boy with the aid of messy lubricants. He wanted to feel every burning, clasping inch of him, and he wanted the boy to feel the same. There would be pain, most definitely, but there would also be pleasure, and soon the boy would be too far-gone to differentiate. 

The boy shuddered, cried out and arched up. Cyprian moaned as the boy's warmth surrounded him. He was always so tight no matter how many times the man took him. 

"Lovely."

"Shit." Cyprian smiled down at the sweating, cursing boy. Exquisite palpitations shook his body and clenched the sheath surrounding the man's pulsing erection. With torturous slowness he pulled out, drawing choked sobs from the shifting form below him, and pushed back in. For a moment he simply watched the dance of emotions across the youth's face. Pain, humiliation, lust and so many more brushed color into his cheeks. 

Hands braced on either side of the boy's head, he began a steady movement. The boy refused to close his eyes and Cyprian enjoyed the shocked pleasure shown therein. Each twist of hips elicited the most endearing little panting gasps from the boy's reddened lips. Clenching so sweetly about his length, the boy began to undulate and moan. He might hate the philanthropist, but he loved the possession, the supplication. Of that Cyprian had no doubt, especially not when he sobbed so prettily for more and tried to tug him closer with desperate hands. 

He had never felt the need to ask the boy if he wanted this. Receiving an answer was only the palest imitation of true dominance. Nay, the true subjugation of another only happened when the subjugator perceived the moment of surrender, and the one being subjugated embraced it. Solely through the erotic language of flexing limbs and arching back was a true master crowned. Greedy sighs and uncontrolled reflexes, shivers and husky moans waited in attendance upon him. The slave could beg, but the true master would never require it. Pleading should come naturally to the slave under the ministrations of his sovereign. 

That peculiar wounded keening, which always signified the boy's most powerful orgasms, filled the room. Panting from the exertion Cyprian thrust more forcefully. Muscles flexed and bunched as he pounded into the wildly gyrating form trapped beneath him. The tingling, near painful, force of climax weighted down his limbs. With an inhuman howl the boy arched upward with enough force to momentarily lift the larger man. Wet heat splashed across their touching stomachs. The boy sagged against the shaking mattress. The tight sheath of the boy's passage clenched forcefully around him. He thrust in deeply, paused, and allowed the tension to snap through him. A soft, controlled sigh passed his parted lips and he crested the pinnacle. 

For a moment he allowed himself to rest fully upon the still-quivering youth and catch his breath. The boy shifted restlessly, coltish limbs, smooth and young, brushed against him. Satiation running through his veins, Cyprian slid off to the side. The ambient glow of the moon washed the boy's damp body with silver. Lazily the man drew one elegant finger down the boy's flat stomach and navigated the outer rim of his navel.

"Leave me alone," the boy choked twisting away. Cyprian smiled with amusement and dragged the weakly flailing youth against his chest. 

"How can I do that when every inch of your skin begs to be touched?" Lovingly he trailed the tips of his fingers across the boy's chest. "To be caressed and kissed." He laved the delicate shell of his ear. The boy squirmed helplessly and finally gave in with a resigned sigh. 

"Again?" He turned shadowed eyes to the philanthropist, who smiled wickedly.

"Do you want to?" the man murmured as he cuddled closer.

"No."

"Then sleep." The boy murmured something that sounded like a curse or a prayer and stilled. Tenderly Cyprian stroked the thin chest of the boy as he drifted off. The gentle exhalations brought a content smile to the man's pale lips. There was something so endearing about the boy held tightly in his arms. The affronted innocence and pride that crinkled his brow even in sleep entrapped the man's fancy. And the fact that he smelled of lemons, of all things…

Whispering a kiss against the boy's head, Cyprian closed his own eyes and surrendered to the chaos that was his dreams. 

***

From Sarryn:

This story seems to be going along at a pace that is slower than I intended. I hope you will all bear with me as I muddled through this story. I believe it has become a bit more complicated than I intended. Due to this fact and the writing style I have chosen to adopt, the plot is not progressing as fast as I wanted.

For those of you who want torture…it is coming soon, and it involves roses.

Thank you and please REVIEW with comments and questions. And remember to keep in mind that I don't, under any circumstances, accept flames. 


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